


The  Hellscapes

by Unhaus



Series: Splotches of the Past [1]
Category: Bendy and the Ink Machine
Genre: Multi, alice has a cult, grant can do no wrong, h i i make weird things i know, he'll pass a fist through your face, henry's a lost one, i actually lied abt sammy, norman is a pacifist, not straight at all, oc is a lesbean, papa franken boris, sammy is a gentle straight (this will make sense later), wally the pan icon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-21
Updated: 2018-10-11
Packaged: 2019-06-13 15:16:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 10,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15367437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Unhaus/pseuds/Unhaus
Summary: "When your bullies dare you into an abandoned hellhole, what do you do? Leave? No the more reasonable thing to do is go inside. Obviously."





	1. The Arrival

**Author's Note:**

> Im sorry i had to redo it but i messed up hhh i'll make it up to y'all

The children near her, begun to chant and cheer angrily - tauntingly. ‘Lindsay! I bet you won’t go into the old studio! Cry baby!”

She whirled around to face them, her cheeks puffing up and she made an angry squeaking noise. Her little scarf cape thing was waving out behind her and her hair swishing around to slap someone in the face. She almost threw her backpack at one of the kids closer to her.

 

“I am _not_!” She shrieked indignantly before she stormed over and yanked on the handle.

 

It wouldn’t budge. All of the kids around her started to laugh and point. She could feel her ears and cheeks heating up and she slammed into the door to prove it was stuck. But it opened and she fell partway into the building.

 

“Oof!” She grunted and pushed herself up off the ground, reaching a hand up to her nose, which was bleeding. She turned back to face the crowd and they told her to go all the way into the building.

 

She really didn’t want to be a chicken anymore, even if it costed her life. So she bravely pushed herself off the floor and took a few more steps in, and then she turned back to see the kids trying to pull the heavy oak doors shut. She sprinted to them and they slammed in her face.

 

“No! Let me out! _Please_!” Her ears and cheeks heated up again, and her eyes watered as she heard the doors lock from the outside.

 

She sighed, as footsteps from outside dwindled away and she turned around to face the building, much larger than she’d thought it was outside. She took a few steps, and listened to a few random tapes she found lying on the ground.

 

“This is - _boring_. I cannot believe I’m here.” She huffed, brushing a strand of her pinkish - gold hair out of her eyes. “How’d they even make me come in….oh I know, by calling me chicken! I’ll show them someday, I swear!”

 

She sighed and took another shakey step towards the deeper part of the studio, and she began to look around, eager to explore, seeing as she wouldn’t be leaving anytime soon. After all, there was nothing better to do than look around.

 

“Gosh. I wonder what happened here.” She put a hand through her hair and then dropped it to her side. Before taking off at a jog down one of the many hallways, hand dragging on the walls.

 

“Jesus Christ.”

 

She whirled around to try and find whoever said that, but then realized it was herself. She sighed and slowed down to a walk, lungs tight from lack of air. She would look around and see little cardboard cutouts of a cartoon character that looked like a - demon?  What self respecting company uses a demon mascot? Then she heard something or someone running down a hall. “Hello? Anyone there?”

 

Silence. 

 

Continuing down the halls she would see a wooden board fall from the ceiling crashing to her feet. She looked down and saw ink splattered on the board. She pushed it along and continued on her way.

 

“Ugh, I really need new friends. _Or friends in general_.” She opened up a door and found an old timey jukebox with a tape recorder. She would press the tape recorder and it said.

 

* * *

 

 

**The Voice Of Doug Smith:**

 

“Working here has been a nightmare, since yesterday which was my first day on the job. I had to fix tha’ pipes, clean up ink, and always check on tha’ stupid ink machine! Always chuggin' it is, seems wise ta' ave' that ink chart. For the consumption thin' Joey's talkin' 'bout.

 

“Why can’t I work on cartoons and write songs like tha’ others! Oh well, at least I get a pretty decent paycheck. How can I not complain about that? Not ery'one gets as much as me, hell, I doubt even that Franks fella' does.

 

“Also, those games down in the basement are tons of fun! Hah! Now f' only Franks didn't lose the keys to the basement.” 

 

* * *

 

 

“Jesus. What a horrible accent. Jerseyan.”

 

She pouted, lost. It seems like that this cartoon studio is a labyrinth, changing constantly. The items, were not so hard to find, but, the studio wanted them to be. It wanted her lost.

 

When Lindsay put them on the pedestals and turned the pressure on, she would hear a noise coming from the pipes above as ink flowed inside of them. Some of the residual ink dripped onto her shoulder leaving a stain on her favorite little striped pink sweater.

As she kept walking she noticed that for however hard she tried, she couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched. The feeling of dread, the feeling of, _solicitude_. Lindsay turned her head at the noise which came when a wooden board fell from the ceiling.

 

She leapt about a foot in the air and she yelped in surprise at the sudden dropping motion. She promptly fell on her ass afterwards, eyes watery again and her nose running from all the dust.

 

“Oh goddamnit!” She began to cry, after all - it wasn’t like anyone would see her crying. At least, she didn’t think anyone would. Nobody had gone in here in - centuries honestly, not since it closed down in 1933.

 

She sat in silence, just looking at her inky - muddy sneakers and fumbling with the laces, ending up untying them. As she went to push up and stand, she tripped and fell on her face, sighing and resigning herself to her fate.

 

“Why do I even bother anymore?” There was a rustling from down one of the hallways, which meant - life, _people_. She took to her feet and sprinted down the hall.

 

She wasn’t smart, or strong, but she could run. Running was what she was born to do. He chest pounded and her heart and lungs, they felt like they’d just rip out of her chest without a word of warning.

 

“Hey - person! Person! Who are you?!” She nearly tripped twice in her chase after them.

 

The ‘ _person_ ’ came into view for a few nanoseconds, and she saw that they were made of nothing but ink, similar to it being an animation place here.

 

And if this place closed in the 30’s that means the person is someone who worked here, right?

 

She turned a corner and rubbed her eyes, coming to a halt. Then,  the person had disappeared, he just vanished into thin air. That or she was already going insane and seeing things.

 

“Oh god, I just want to find someone, _anyone_!”

 

She mumbled and went back to the room the old machine was in, sighing and dragging her feet dejectedly, she noticed - even from afar it was boarded up. So that meant a person really had been here.

 

“Okay person, come out come out wherever you are.” She walked up to the boards calling for whoever it could have been.

 

Of course, it wasn’t a person. Oh no, no, it was a demon. What else could it have been?

 

She yelped in shock and terror and turned on her heels to run, tripping over her shoelaces and having to keep getting up when she fell. The demonic thing didn’t appear to be outright chasing her, the only thing it was causing was ink to fill the room.

 

“Dammit, dammit!” She swore under what was left of her breath.

 

She ran to the doors and the floor gave way, causing her to plummet. She tried to scream but got a mouthful of ink, and the words were strangled in her throat.

 

She hit the floor on the lower level, and her eyes were closed, as soon as she could get the ringing in her ears to subside, she opened her eyes. Her face was slick and beaded with sweat from the strain of just holding her eyes open to see. She was so tired from the running, the screaming. All of it.

 

“Too bright. It’s all too bright.” She closed her eyes again, she could sleep now. There were no monsters nearby.


	2. The Prophet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Why else would you just, join a cult? Oh I don't know, to save your life?"

She didn’t expect to wake up, not in all honesty. Not at all. She’d in fact if she were to be honest, would have preferred it. But, she woke up anyways. To the sound of a phone ringing in her backpack. Clammy and sweating, covered in ink as well, from the fall.

 

“Oh god, my head - “

 

She sat up with a minimal amount of struggling, sighing and rubbing her aching temples. Then she took it upon herself to attempt standing - tripping over her feet only once. 

 

Then she took the phone, staring. Her mom, _fuck_. She didn’t want to answer it, her mom constantly called her, but then again - she was probably here a little while.

 

She leaned on a wall for support, lurched over and eyes darting around. Then she took it upon herself to yank the axe off the wall.

 

As she grabbed it - it didn’t come off so easily. She had to stop to wipe sweat and catch her breath again. “ _Come off_!” She scrunched her eyes up, and furrowed her brows.

 

As she managed to get it off the wall, she screamed in shock as the sudden weight of it knocked her off her feet. She promptly fell back on her ass and was 5 seconds from bawling.

 

“L - let’s go. Again.” She struggled more to get up now, but she managed to - somehow. Getting up and turning on her heel to go into another room. Then, there were stairs - her legs smarted intensely, but she forced herself to go down them, nearly falling.

 

Utility shaft 9. A stupid sign, over a stupid place. At least, in her opinion. Of course, she’d have to pass through anyways.

 

Searchers were not to be expected, and soon her arms grew sore from swinging the axe to fend them off, but at long last she seemed to be in a searcher - free zone. With another recorder.

 

* * *

 

 

**Voice of Sammy Lawrence:**

 

“He appears from the shadows to rain sweet blessings upon me. The figure of ink that shines in the darkness. I see you my savior. I pray you hear me.   
  
“Those old songs, yes, I still sing them. For I know you are coming to save me. And I will be swept into your final loving embrace.

 

“But, love requires sacrifice. Can I get an amen?”

 

* * *

 

 

She stared at the recording and then sighed deeply, one hand gripping the axes handle, the other rubbing her temples. “Cultists, nice.” She made a thumbs up gesture almost mockingly.

  
  


She took a few steps away from the recorder, walking up and down the hallways, still searching for a way out. She soon came upon a hallway full of ink. Up to the knees almost, her expression went from bored to perturbed in a nanosecond.

 

“More _freaking_ ink?!” She shrieked, her hair suddenly puffing up, as if it were reacting to her fury. She then took a step in to gauge the depth of it, and then began walking when she could feel the floor.

 

As she continued to walk alone, she saw someone, also alone, carrying an old cut - out of the devil mascot Bendy. He also seemed to be singing some distorted version of a lullaby. Her eyes widened in shock at first, and then she tried to speed up to catch them, and ask where she was.

 

However, fate chose some other path for her. As she ran, she tripped over her untied shoelaces. She’d say it was because she forgot to tie them, not that she didn’t know how _(she’d never admit she couldn’t.)_

 

He walked off to somewhere else, and she staggered up to run further, to find him again. But, when she turned and made it through the doorway, she turned to face the way he’d gone, but there was just a wall. He’d just, vanished into nothingness. A pentagram of sorts on the wall.

 

She had finally lost it, she’d begun imagining the fake people holding fake things. She was going to be in a mental ward after this. She keep going, pushing herself further and harder, walking to another recorder, and staring.

 

The same damn guy, he must’ve got around, but then again maybe he worked here. Actually did, not just imagining. Then again this was the music place, maybe he was a musician.

 

* * *

 

 

**Voice of Sammy Lawrence:**

  
“So first, Joey installs the ink machine over our heads. Then it begins to leak. 3 times last month, we couldn't even get out of our department because the ink had flooded the stairwell.

 

“Joey’s solution? An ink pump to drain it periodically. Now I have this ugly pump switch in my office. People in and out all day.

 

“Thanks, Joey. Just what I needed. More distractions. These stupid cartoon songs don’t write themselves you know.” 

 

* * *

 

 

A click, not unlike the first.

 

“Hell, poor guy.” She huffed softly and then turned to head into a hallway, it lead to some band practice room, the music department sign on the wall, she wanted to punch it. Badly. But nevertheless she resisted.

 

As she entered into the band room, she peered at every instrument inside, eyes halfway shut, too tired to keep them completely open. Her hands were shaking and barely staying closed enough to hold the axe.

 

There was something not unlike a murmur from above her, as she looked up, the same person she thought she’d seen was there. Her heart soared, for despite looking like a monster, he might be able to free her.

 

From here she got a better view of him, he had a mask, it looked like he took the head of a cutout and fashioned his mask. There was a hole for his mouth, yet none for his eyes, if he had any. His arms, and presumably his entire body then was an inky citadel, worthy of his ‘lords’ praise, well built, strong but - he was also a fucking twig.

 

She tried to put the axe in her left hand, and wave with the other. However the axe was far to heavy, so she just leaned on it and waved. “Hello, person. Sammy I would presume, right?”

 

The man just stared at her, completely silent, it was quite unnerving, so she left. What else could she do. Well, aside from stay there and perish.

 

“Ok great talk, bye.” She turned and stalked off to go downstairs, thinking the way out wouldn’t be up here, with the thing. But all of her hopes were dashed, as she found herself standing at the top of a flooded stairwell. “Are you -”

 

She sighed and went off to find the switch, coming upon a lone room, with what appeared like a pump inside. As she came upon it, she stared in shock, it was alone in a room. Really, this is his fucking room? Then again, he did mention the ‘ugly pump switch’ himself. So she walked up to observe it, and she put a finger to her chin, like the detectives in movies. She felt smart for once.

 

“Shoot man.” She then tried to switch it on, or whatever she presumed would make it work. She’d only done it, to get to the stairs, so her motives for it weren’t great. She just tugged on her sleeves a bit, before going to leave.

 

When the girl walked out she was immediately clouted with a dustpan, it actually stunned her enough to make her fall - that rendered her unconscious. As she ebbed and faded into the sweet darkness, she heard the captor muttering.

 

“Sheep sheep sheep, it’s time for sleep.” _Sleep._ Yeah, she’d like that.

 

As she awoke, yet again, the second time today she was tied up to a pole. She kicked her legs and struggled, but the knots were all too strong for her. She just started crying but her tears had all dried up.

 

“There we go now, nice and tight.”

 

Her face heated and she began wheezing, she was so tired, again.

 

“We wouldn’t want our little sheep roaming away now, would we? No, we wouldn’t.”

 

She looked up, the effort of holding her head up, wearing her out.

 

“Are you Sammy? Please tell me, g - give me a-”

 

“Although,  I must admit, I am honored you came all the way down here to visit me. It almost makes what I'm about to do seem cruel. But the believers must honor their savior. I must have him notice me.”

 

She just made an indignant yelp from the back of her throat, kicking her legs again and screaming. **_“Almost seem cruel?! It is cruel Sammy!”_**

 

“Silence! The time of sacrifice is at hand. And then, I will finally be freed from this... prison. This inky... dark... abyss I call a body.”

 

His monologue was cut short, by her mother calling - for the second time. Her ringtone was set to something from a band she’d liked. Sammy was about to walk off, but he whirled back around.

 

“What is that?”

 

“My music.” She stopped short, he hadn’t killed her yet.

 

“That, is _not_ music.”

 

She frowned at him and shrugged. “Music is something you can sing to.”

 

“You cannot sing to that, I’m a music director and I _cannot_ sing to it.”

 

“You can’t. But I can!” She started laughing and trying to sing to it, it was off tune but better than Sammy’s attempts.

 

His eyes would have been wide with shock, and he made a sort of confused looking face, hands dropping to his sides. He wordlessly walked over and crouched down to untie her.

 

“You untied me, but why?”

 

“Well, I am in need of another worshipper. And you seem to be of acceptable rank for it.” He took another cut out nearby and got the head off without problem. He took a leather strap and fashioned a mask. 

 

“What is this?”

 

“It is the mask you are to wear. To show your devotion to our lord, Bendy.” She put it on, obliging only a little. It was far too large for her head.

 

She stood when he offered her a hand, but her legs quaked, and she had to keep holding his hands.

 

“What are you doing?”

 

“Sammy, I’m holding your hand. You infidel.” 

 

He yanked it away and then grumbled and rubbed his hand with the other,  Shooting her metaphorical daggers under the mask.

 

“Well then, prophet, might we get on with our hymns?” She gave him a smirk and declined the call.

 

“Yes, if, and only if, that does not happen again.”

 

“Can’t guarantee it Sambo.” She giggled and stood on her toes, staring at him.

 

“Never call me that.”

 

She sighed, and then turned down the hall, running ahead only to trip, get up and let him lead her. The room itself, was not half bad, it was quaint, had a bed, a couch, a little countertop, a little stovetop, and an adjacent bathroom. With a door she could lock. Hella.

 

“You will be staying here, with me.”

 

“Nice place.”

 

“Your terms are odd, to say the least. You may have the sofa.”

 

She nodded and flopped on the sofa to text her mom, but it was so soft, she promptly fell asleep.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> H E R E W E G O D O O T D O O T


	3. How to Live with a Cultist 101.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alternatively: Sammy's a cutout fucker and Linda's done.

    Well she woke back up, phone on her chest, she then peered at it, her mother had been texting her angrily. She had to reply.

 

_‘Mom. Im good.’_

 

_‘Come home.’_

 

_‘Cant.’_

 

_‘Why not?’_

 

_‘Complicated mom.’_

 

With that she turned her phone off and set it on her chest again. Then she was suddenly aware of Sammy’s cold, emotionless stare over her shoulder.

 

“Why Sammy?”

 

“What is that?”

 

“My phone. You absolute _fool_.”

 

He stared at it, and then just kind of walked out of the room to get a much larger rotary phone. He set it on the wooden, shambly, dining room table. There was an audible thunking noise. He just made an angry hand gesture.

 

“This is a phone, girl!”

 

“Call me Lindsay.”

 

“Fine then, _Linda_.”

 

“ _Lindsay_.” She sighed.

 

“Linda, yes.”

 

“Sure yeah. But phones improve.”

 

He crossed his arms and repeated the gesture. Then he calmly - _walked?_ It might have been walked, over to her. He took her hair and hacked it all off so it was roughly to her chin.

 

“Sammy, w - what the frick?!”” Now her mom would really kill her.

 

“Your hair will just get in the way Linda.”

 

She was so shocked she didn’t bother to protest her name. She just got onto her knees and began to cradle the hair on the floor.

 

“Relax.”

 

“My mom will actually kill me!”

 

"You will not see her again.”

 

She was quiet for a bit before suddenly screaming. Then she stood bolt upright and latched onto Sammy, squeezing his neck.

 

“I beg your pardon.”

 

“I’m suffocating you.”

 

“I cannot die.”

 

“You don’t know that yet.”

 

He just stared at her, and then tried to wriggle out of her grasp to walk off and go pray or something. She then went to scroll through her tumblr, yes the emo bitch has one. It was mostly so she could yell about random things that were happening.

 

Only after, what an hour -she realized she'd not eaten since what, 8am yesterday? God, she was starving, only the adrenaline made it less noticeable before. So she'd need to eat. She thought she'd seen soup somewhere, yeah, soup sounded nice.

 

As she was walking she’d seen a fair amount more searchers, yet none went after her. So she thought, and she took the mask off, almost instantly they all lunged for her ankles, only stopping when she put it back on. “Nobody cared who I was, until I put on the mask.” she giggled to herself before loading her arms with soup cans, and taking them back to Sammy’s place.

 

“Yo I got fo-”

 

She was silenced by Sammy laying on his cot and staring at her, he was next to a bendy cut out, he’d left the door open, she could see in, and it was this. She grabbed her phone to take a picture and she started laughing.

 

“What did you do?!”

 

“I got a picture!” She was giggling maniacally.

 

**“Get rid of it!”**

 

“No!” She ran off and ended up tripping on the couch, dropping her phone - which he caught. He was laying on the ground holding the phone up, and he took her scrunchie, putting it on his wrist, and then he got up.

 

“How do you get rid of it?” He shook the phone and stared at it from behind the mask, inky digits pressing the screen angrily. Then the phone rung again and he flung it as far as he could, screaming.

 

She ending up diving for it and catching it a few moments before the ground. “Never, _ever_ , throw my phone.”

 

“Alright then.” He adjusted her scrunchie and walked back over to the bed, moving the cut out.

 

“I’m putting this on my tumblr.”

 

“What is that? What is a tumbler?”

 

“I have a blog.”

 

He looked confused behind the mask. “And that is?”

 

“Jesus heck.”

 

“Excuse?”

 

She turned her phone off and shooed him away, glaring. “Begone. I’m going to make soup.”

 

He left her alone, shockingly enough, obliging to going back to cuddling a cutout. She made a face at him and then turned to the stovetop to make herself something to eat. However she was unsure how it worked, so she just had cold soup from the can.

 

It wasn’t bad, but she figured she’d like it if it weren’t lukewarm at best. Plus, she’d ask him to work the stove but she did not want to go into the bed area again, she did not want her eyes to receive the cursed mental image of him fondling a cutout, for the second time. Once was already too many times.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Noot noot Sinornis.


	4. West Coast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here we learn Lindsay's sadder than you'd think. And the Polks live on through this sad shithead.

“Ramona, your daughter will be okay.” These words did little to calm the hysterical woman. She was in a bar, at 3 pm on a Wednesday, too early even for her.

 

“She’s dead Harold!” The lady spat at him, prompting him to wipe his face with a handkerchief. 

 

“Get a grip woman!” He took her shoulders and shook her, almost refusing to let the barkeep serve her anymore. However it seemed like they wouldn’t have anyways.

 

“Ma’am you’re intoxicated, get out. I won’t serve you.”

 

“My daughter’s gonne!” She whined, slurring angrily.

 

Harold pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed, god it was too early for this. “Where was she seen last then?”

 

“At school… _yesterday_.”

 

“Were you drunk when you drove her there?”

 

“A lil.” She tried to learn over the bar to take another bottle of wine. She was restrained by her friend.

 

“Ramona, we’d have to put you in jail for that. _Again_.” His eyes were wide with shock. “That’s - drunk driving, child endangerment, and god knows what else!”

 

“Listen, how about you go home, take a warm bath and go to bed. You’ll need it tomorrow.” He took her hand to lead her outside, smiling. The weather was getting colder, hence the need for his overcoat and scarf.  “I promise, I _will_ find your daughter.” He held her hand and led her to a bus stop.

 

“How can I repay you?”

 

“I take cash and card.”

 

She glared once more before getting on her bus and going home. The house itself looked nice, a two story, but it was in the middle of nowhere. The living room was first, the couch for sleeping. Then the dining room, the table was nice to play one person poker at. The kitchen, full of booze no doubt. 

 

Upstairs were her and Lindsay’s rooms, hers a nice place to sleep in, off limits to Lindsay. Lindsay’s room, which was a closet with a mattress in it, also known as Lindsay’s hiding place.

 

Still a good house, a nice house. She liked her house. She kicked her boots off first thing inside, and sauntered to the couch to drift off to sleep.

 

___________________________

 

Harold never thought about making Lindsay go to therapy, after all, it’d done her own mother little good, wouldn’t do her much either. So he let this go on, but what was he to do? He was only a family friend.

 

So here he was, in his old apartment, still living in the same city as always, he’d been told a lot, mostly by his grandfather _(senile now)_ that the old studio nobody took down, was an ass load of trouble. Now, seemed he had to agree.

 

It wasn’t any health issues, no, everyone was gone. The conductor, the lyricist, everyone. Up and just vanished, but some did quit, or so he was told. His grandfather used to say he worked there, but he was a liar anyways.

 

Honestly, he never knew what to think, he was just sitting at the plastic table knocking back some water, with his dog. The dog’s bowl was on the floor next to him, and he just ate his dinner in mundane silence, listening to a radio show he’d grown fond of.

 

“Ey, Baxter, do you think if I left this detective business that I could be runnin’ the joint?”

 

There wasn’t a response, after all, what can the boxer do, say yes? “Figures, thanks for lookin out for me pal.” He gave the dog a gentle pat on the head, before heading over to the mattress to sleep.

 

As soon as he laid down, the dog padded over and crawled onto his lap, resting its head on his chest and staring at him with wide, gentle eyes. He smiled and put his face up to it’s snout, it gave an assuring _whuff_ , and licked his cheek.

 

“Thanks Baxter. You’ve always been a pal.”

 

_______________________

 

Somewhere off of the west coast somebody shivered, not the kind of shiver you do when it’s cold, or when somebody says something scary. No, this was, in the person’s eyes a far worse shiver.

 

This was the kind of shiver you’d get when someone talked about your family in an unsavory way. The familial bond of being close to somebody, and wanting to raise hell if they’re hurt.

 

“Marie, could you check something?”

 

_ “What-is-it-Damian?” _

 

“I feel like someone’s hurting my grandfather.”

 

_ “Damian-Norman-was-never-recovered.” _

 

The man, aged roughly 20 by now, cast the little device the Ai was ‘ _living_ ’ in a pleading look. His eyes were a shocking gunmetal blue, adding to the piercing effect he was going for. “Check for me Marie, _for the Polks_.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hewwo-my-name-is-Mawie


	5. A / N

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> uhhhh

so basically i have n o ideas for chapter 5 right now. All I know is it's about norman,,,, if you could dump ideas in the comments,,,, i might use them


	6. The Mazes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh This Fucking Loser. And Henry.

The projectionist, that was its name. It sulked in the darkest corners of the studio, ink almost up to it’s waist, nearly congealed from age. He was skinny, more so than sammy if one dared to say, but even still he was strong; years of carrying the projector on his head.

 

“Ah, Projectionist! How are you starlight?” Alice was taunting him again, and he hated it - hated her. He wanted it to end, he wanted to close the loop. The almost endless loop of him waking up and walking, her making him suffer, and then him going to sleep in the night.

 

_ It was horrible, he hated it, it hurt, he was starving; but god, he couldn’t stop. _

 

“Come up to visit me darling.” 

 

He had to, he just had to. It was an obligation. So he forced his weak legs to walk up the stairs, and he took the lift up to her, then he waited. She came out to get him, to take him to her paradise.

 

He followed along obediently, like a lost puppy. She took him to a more secluded room, one he’d grown to recognize. Almost completely empty, aside from a large metal table he’d grown accustomed to being strapped to.

 

“You know what you’re to do Projectionist.” She smirked, and he obliged once more, getting into place and letting her strap him down. God, he was always a pawn in her experiments.

 

_ He was tired, he hated it, he wanted it to stop. _

 

“Close your eyes” - she paused. “Oh, I forgot, you cannot. Well then, dim that light.”

 

He complied, there was nothing else he could do, struggling was impossible, he had nothing to do, no way out.

 

She stared at a desk covered in tools - scalpels, hammers, syringes, everything. He hated them all, but he hated those - things; the electrocuting things. Those things hurt and they kept hurting after too.

 

Her eyes were wild with some god damn wicked form of - hope? Hope was a good way to describe it, the hope of escaping this inky hell, of being perfect. Of being Alice.

 

__ _ He was tired, he hated it, he was starving, let him go home. _

 

__ “Alright, you know what to do, stay still.”

 

He stayed still, held his breath, the vents hissing in a desperate plea for oxygen and it was hurting, he needed to breathe, but she wanted him to hold his breath too. His lungs, or whatever was left of them, under that ink, were aching.

 

He finally let his breath out, and took a big gulp of fresh air, at the exact  _ wrong _ time. The shocks registered as soon as he exhaled and he then chose to settle down to a good long scream. 

 

It shook the walls and the ceiling, all the way so that the people conversing over a card game floors above could hear and feel it, and so the people a floor below them yet, could hear it too.

 

* * *

 

Now, Henry wanted to go home, he really did; all lost ones did. It was common among them, they all missed their families, but he, came to terms with the fact they were all dead. There was nothing to go home  _ to.  _

 

Then there was wally, he was so perfect, he’d never gone to see Susie, and by effect, never been hurt. He was just sitting, playing cards with the inky man in Henry’s clothing.

 

“Any sixes Boris?”

The mutt shook its head in a solemn no.

 

“Cheater, hand em’ over.” Henry cracked a wry smile under the ink.

 

Now, let’s imagine a card game, or the game with the marble and cups. There is one persona named ‘A’ who is a short choppy brown haired child. There is the second, named ‘B’ who is an older man with no family, one side of his head near shaved in mourning, the other half grown long for the same reason. And there is ‘C’, your neurotypical lost one. I f A had only recently been buried under scabbed memories, and C was suppressing them, who was to assert control? If you said B, you would, like many others, be incorrect. It would be D, and if you had not heard of D before today. You are not alone.

 

D, is what henry would have been had he left here, a shy pathetic blot of ink with PTSD and depression. Yet he was a fighter, he never let on if he was hurting or sad, only if he was angry, and even then, it was only by him attacking you could tell.

 

So there they were, D and Boris, playing poker, Boris in heavy debt to D, at risk for losing his clarinet. So he’d been forced to cheat.

 

* * *

 

He was back in the maze, tired, hungry, and aching for home. He missed his family, his friends, everyone. And so he did what he always did when faced with the fear of forgetting them; he drew them on the walls. Stick figures, of him and his parents and his sister, and of his extended family too. He tried to write their names too.

 

Normy, Jonathin, Elisa, Katie.

 

All of the e’s were backwards, and the z in Eliza was replaced with an s. He was having a hard time with spelling and he kept forgetting things, but he remembered his main family still.

 

There was a growl and he saw something in the ink, a searcher, he recognized it somehow, most likely for what it used to be, a friend.

 

He held his arms out and then it slunk over and laid in his arms, and he began to play a film, _ KeyFrame Bay.  _ Their favorite. He leaned up against a crate of soup cans and he purred contentedly, hugging them close.

 

There was a shared moment of silence between them before they leaned closer to each other, and before the searcher growled out something, to which the projectionist gave a raspy wheeze.

 

And that’s how they fell asleep, well, how the searcher, who was formerly known as B. P. fell asleep. And how the Projectionist kept a watch over them, all night, he was a little beacon of hope. And that’s all they really needed right now.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :D :D :D


	7. Two Birds, No Stone, Don't Kill Our Birds.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Sammy is held to the standards to tell his story all over again, and in which our protagonist is finally admitting her defeat.

If there was one thing Samuel Lawrence was, it was a mucus director or a cultist; what he was not however, was good at comforting crying children. 

 

It’s not that he hated kids, but he’d never wanted any of his own; in fact he was beginning to doubt more of himself every day she stayed. 

 

For now, Sammy decided, he’d be fine as how he was; inky and dark. And she, would stay pale faced and freckled. 

 

And Alice would remain “ _perfect_ ” and untainted, in her own rights. 

 

“Can you maybe stop crying?”

 

“Shut up Sam Sam.”

 

Samuel went silent, dead and pure, almost pure; as pure as anything down here can get.  He’d never really expected a child to retaliate that way; with the just, cold words.

 

“So, why are you crying?”

 

“MY FRIEND POSTED A PICTURE OF HER CHICKENS IM SOBBING.”

 

“Chickens make you cry?”

 

“YES.”

 

He looks over her shoulder again, at a very badly photo of some chicks and shifted his weight onto another leg, staring solemnly. “I could get two birds with one stone,” he held up a small engraved worshipping stone. “ _Literally_.”

 

“No, you will not. You’ve done enough.” She recalled the memories of prayings before with him, where he would _‘accidentally’_ set her shoelaces on fire, or at least try to. Or in the worse case, where he would smack her head when she bowed to make it hit the floor painfully.

 

“I have done nothing wrong ever in my life.”

 

“I keep a list. It’s alphabetized.”

 

“Oh. Is this where I say press F to pay respects.”

 

“No, it’s not.”

 

“Oh _okay_.”

 

He merely walked away, unsure of what to do next, before laying on the couch and stretching his legs and arms; he was growing more gangly and lean every day. His arms seemed longer, along with his legs, because they were getting slimmer, and thinner. 

 

She was thinner too, gaunt cheeks, unbrushed hair and baggy eyes. Her eyes went from the fiery color was gone, and they were fading to grey, tired and weak.

 

She missed her friends, her family, but she needed to press on.

 

“Sammy?”

 

“Yes?”

 

“Please, tell me the story, again.”

 

“Which one?”

 

“The one about you.”

 

He paused, silent and nodded. “Sure, I was a musician, all full of life and excitement and I enjoyed working here, I really did. Joey was for lack of a better word, obnoxious, but that was all. I enjoyed writing, and enjoyed Henry and Norman’s company. Those two-”

 

“You liked them? They were your friends?”

 

“Yes, I suppose so, we were close, we’d get coffee and talk about or own stories. I remember Norman and Henry and I, planning our own. Ajza the archeologist, to teach kids about fossils, and her friend Drewulf, the teacher, he helped teach kids about other things.”

 

“You wanted to educate kids. That’s nice.” She let her eyes close halfway, tired.

 

“Well, Bendy wasn’t made for that, it was just to laugh at, but we were hoping that teachers could air our cartoons in schools, or read little books with pictures to kids if there were days with nothing planned.”

 

“Oh! Like a recess where it’s raining!”

 

“Recess when it’s raining?”

 

“We played outside,” She smiled fondly and pulled a picture up on her phone, it was of a playground structure. “On these, but when it rained they got slippery, so we watched movies. Like Bill Nye!”

 

“Bill Nye?”

 

“Bill Nye the science guy!”

 

“That’s the opening for the movie isn’t it?” He sighed defeated and sagged his inky shoulders. 

 

“Yep.”

 

He defeatedly got up and went to leave.

 

“Sammy you didn’t finish!”

 

“Alright, alright,” He slid across the floor and took a seat back on the couch; sliding was a good word, for he didn’t seem to walk without feet.

 

She settled back into her place, kneeling on the floor, at his well, inky legs end; not feet, but they were where his feet ought to be, and she took off her shoes, the closest she got to being in pajamas.

 

“I was the music director, but you knew that. And so, when people started leaving, I wasn’t shocked, but once the great depression started, people kept going; it shocked me because I stayed, needed the money. But pay got worse, and one day I heard Norman throwing a fit in Joey’s office.”

 

“You went in….”

 

“I went in indeed, and he was torturing Polk. Turning him into something he wasn’t. And I had to do something, but, he siced Norman on me; god, Polk was like a damn attack dog. He didn’t give me any openings to defend myself, and I _nearly_ lost, if not for Joey taking me and running me through the machine first.”

 

He looked like he was going to cry, inky fluid building up in his hollow eye sockets and pooling there, and then he truly did cry, the tears spilling out over his gaunt yet ink covered features and rolling to his chin, before falling to the floor.

 

“Oh god, I’m so sorry. I know you hate telling that one, but I made you tell me again and, god I’m sorry Sammy.”

 

He was, floored, was a good word, she never apologized like that. Typically she’d guard it, so he’d have to realized it was an apology, but she openly said _‘I’m sorry’_ to him of all people. And the realization she was opening up to him made him just cry harder.

 

“Sammy, let’s make soup and I can play a read you something from the bookshelf okay?”

 

“Okay. That sounds… _good._ "

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whats going on what sam sam? being confused about who they are......hmmmmmmm


	8. Expedition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We get to embark on our own little pilgrimage and see just how bad things get down here.

“We ought to get going.”

 

Sammy paused and then nodded, before heading to pack his cloth bag so that the two of them could go to wherever Linda said they ought to.

 

Her eyes glazed over and she stared into what could be described as nothing before she set off.

 

“Understood Linda.”

 

“I _told_ you, don’t call me that.”

 

Sammy nodded and went silent, save for the occasional folding of his spare clothing - his other pair of overalls, his grey dress shirt and blue sweater and his dress pants. He put everything into her backpack.

 

His eyes got caught on his shoes and he looked down at himself, then he walked over to them and sat on the couch, trying to put one on, it just got covered in ink and made a sad _gloopy_ noise.   


“I don’t suppose you’d want my shoes?”

 

Lindsay was about to say a firm no, but looked at her torn, tattered shoes, with frayed laces, and a hole where her toes came out, and the other shoe had a hole in the heel. The soles were almost completely worn away and it was getting to the point they had no support and hurt her feet.

 

“I’ll save them, for a special occasion.”

 

Sammy nodded and then slipped them into her backpack, resting them on his folded clothes. He then pulled a loose floorboard away from the rest, and he held it to her.

 

“Sammy, what thy hell is this?”

 

“Don’t you have that little fire thing?”

 

“My lighter?”

 

“That’s the bitch.” Sammy looked absolutely serious when he’d said it, which only made it funnier.

 

She rolled her eyes and chuckled, before nodding slowly, and pulling the lighter out of her pocket. She then lit it up, and grabbed the floorboard and threw it.  


“Oh my Lord!”

 

“The whole thing would have burned Samuel, don’t burn yourself.”

 

She patted his head and he slouched over, and gave her a tight smile, empty eyes almost glinting. He raised an arm to deck her in the jaw but she just waved her lighter in his face - which made him retreat.

 

“Cmon Sam Sam let’s go.”  


“I TOLD YOU NOT TO CALL ME THAT!”

 

* * *

  


Boris and Henry were sitting together, both staring into their respective bowls of soup and not speaking - for their own reasons. Then unanimously they both stood up, stared at each other, and left, the soup on the table, congealing.

 

“We’re heading up again Boris, so we’ll have to pass by the Prophet, but he shouldn’t notice me anymore.”

 

Boris just nodded, not really listening to Henry, just thinking about things, _Henry,_ he was thinking, _Henry, Sammy won’t do anything, and we know it’s because you were already killed. Besides don’t you remember before? You know, with Annie?_

 

Annie, was someone no longer spoken of, she was Henry’s wife, and the mother of their daughter, Linda - Loo, or just Linda. She was really nice from what they remembered of being a person and meeting her, he’d really tried to not lose anything that day, make a good impression.

 

“So, getting close ey?”

 

Boris finally looked up and focused, yes they were, both of them. They were approaching what looked to be a long hallway, and they heard voices down one end of it, a man’s and a young girl’s.

 

“Be careful Boris, they might be here to attack us.”

 

* * *

 

 

“Sammy! A person! It sounds like a man!” She was grinning ear to ear.

 

“Do you want to leave or be friendly?”

 

She went silent and followed him to a room full of ink; where she took her shoes off and waded around, the ink up to her knees. Sammy followed without question, the ink now covering his pants up to the knees.

 

“What’s that?”

 

“What’s what?” He looked up and saw what she was pointing to, he had to squint his eyes a bit, but he saw it. It was a swollen searcher with a hat on, and it was clinging onto something.

 

“Don’t we need that?”

 

“We might yes.”

 

“Need what?”

 

Both Lindsay and Sammy jumped at the sound of the new voice, then they promptly ran and slammed into each other and fell flat on their backs.

 

“Who are you!? Show yourself!” Lindsay suddenly stood up and brushed her inky bangs out of her eyes, trying to brandish her lighter.

 

“My name’s Henry.”

 

As she managed to focus her eyes she gasped; he looked almost identical to Sammy except, not wearing clothes for some reason. And for some reason it embarrassed her.

 

“Oh, I - er, lost my, you know….” He trailed off and rubbed and inky hand over the back of his neck.

 

She threw her backpack at him, “I have clothes please go put them on! _Elsewhere_!”

 

As soon as Henry’d left with the bag she turned her attention back to the searcher. It did indeed have what they needed and they’d have to get it.

 

So, the logical response wasn’t to ask, or just take it, no; what are you, a normal person? It was to _sing._ Most importantly, to sing gently, and quietly so that she didn’t spook the poor thing. She tried to sing gently, but she never was good at that.

 

Y’see, when she was in 6th grade she entered into her school's talent show, she and her friend Kate. They’d planned on singing together, but Kate got the flu and missed it, but she couldn’t just, not go up. So she tried to sing by herself and ended up running off stage crying.

 

“What are you doing?” Sammy, from behind her, she shooed him off.

 

“Get your banjo. We’ll sing together.” She murmured softly, and he went to do so.

 

When he came back she was sitting on the floor, now up to her chest in ink, with her arms outreached to the searcher, who was too close for comfort. Of course when it heard the inky steps it tried to flee, but ended up not going far.

 

“Sing with me Sammy.”

 

He froze, he’d thought he’d remembered something; and this was it, _Jack_. Their old friend, they had so many fun memories, of hiding from Drew and talking, or laying on Jack’s roof at night, or seeing each other at church. That’s where they met, Jack’s mom and Sammy’s dad worked together, of course when both of them were 15 and 17 respectively they were told that Ms. Fain and Mr. Lawrence were having an affair. Even after 10 years when the studio was running, their parents never knew why Jack and Sammy cut them out.

 

_“Jack?”_

 

“Who’s Jack?”

 

“My friend….” Sammy put his banjo down on his lap and held out a hand, Jack came over, and placed his own in it. Sammy’s empty eyes began to water and he bit his almost unseen lip.

 

“You really cared about them, didn’t you?”

 

“I - I,” Sammy paused and swallowed hard, “I even think I loved him.”

 

Jack stared blankly at them both before giving them what they needed and Lindsay headed to the other side of the room, however Jack  kept his hand in Sammy’s. The two of them sat there at the end of the hall, and hugged, and Sammy finally gave himself the pleasure of crying.

 

And then, Henry came back. When he came back he was dressed, but he saw only Jack, and he flipped the lever, and dropped the boxes.

 

Lindsay wasted no time getting up and running to the end of the hall. As soon as she could she body - slammed Sammy to push him out of the way and the two of them were rolling to a stop just outside of where the box went down.

 

There was a squishing noise, like something got crushed.  Both Sammy and Lindsay’s eyes widened in shock and horror, and Sammy once again began to sob, but for a different reason. Now, he was horrified, and no longer happy.

 

“Henry….what the fuck…?”

 

Sammy was still shocked into silence, with Lindsay trying to hold onto him so he didn’t run or do anything rash; but he flung her off like she was nothing, stormed to where he left his banjo and heaved it over his head.

 

It came down with a sickening crunch over Henry, who looked shocked, almost like he expected gratitude.

 

“Samuel what the hell?!”

 

“ **You killed him! You killed Jack!** ” He allowed himself to keep landing blows on the lost one’s head, neck, and shoulders.

 

Henry was forced to sit on the floor, hands and arms up to cover his face and it almost sounded like he was crying. “I’m sorry! I am! Really am!”

 

After an eternity Sammy stopped, just gave up and dropped the banjo to the floor beside him, where it broke further, he’d run out of fight, there was nothing left in him. He dropped to his knees and started to cry all over again.

 

“Sammy,” she began weakly from where she was standing up now, “Please, don’t cry. We’ll all be okay.”

 

“Nothing will be okay, nothing ever _was_ okay.”

 

She sighed softly and helped them to stand, picked up his banjo, put it back in her backpack which Henry returned, and lead Sammy, Henry, and Boris off.

 

“Where are we going? It’s, dark. I don’t like the dark.”

 

Lindsay reached over to hold Sammy’s hand. “You know, I don’t like the dark much either.”

 

“You both need to get used to it.” Henry chuckled from his place in the front of their group, clutching his pipe.

 

“You need to stop being a dickwad.” She mumbled under her breath and she tightened her grip on the axe.

 

“Heard it.”

 

“Damn you hear good.”

 

Henry rolled his empty eye sockets around and let his shoulders drop. He was, in the worst way possible, flawless. He picked out Sammy’s clean clothes and looked infuriatingly okay in them. He looked like a suburban dad who yells at a girl for playing soccer.

 

_He looked like Kate’s dad._

 

“And watch your mouth missy.”

 

“Make me old man.”

 

She grinned and gave Sammy’s hand a squeeze which made him pull away. “Don’t do that.”

 

“But, we can still hold hands, right?”

 

“... _Yes_. If you’d like to.”

 

“Good, thanks!”

  
So the group of now four walked in solemn silence, with Sammy carrying Jack’s hat the whole way. Nobody noticed the paper inside reading ‘ _If lost, please return to Jaqueline Fain._ ’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hen Hen no. Also!!! Jackie is wife material you cannot tell me otherwise.


	9. Longing Makes a Beast's Heart Grow Fonder

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> G AYS GAYS GAYS G A Y S

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> also known as: @sinornis im sowwy to make u cry.

The two of them were still there, hugging each other, with the searcher purring softly and contentedly. The little ink blot curled up in the larger being’s arms and nuzzled up to it’s chest, nudging the speaker ever so slightly.

 

The bigger monster looked down slightly to get a better look at the smaller one, and it gave a wavering screech of appreciation, before running a taloned inky hand along the searchers back. The searcher purred louder and tried to pull its arms up to lock them around the larger’s neck.

 

There was a gentle silence, almost holy, before there was a soft tremor running along the mechanical beast’s spine, shaking them both in turn. The little one in its arms peeped and looked up at it, giving a raspy gasp when it saw the ink run down it’s lense.

 

_ “Don’t cry, it’s okay.” _

 

The tall one, Norman, stared and struggled to focus his light, giving off a few pained croaks in quick succession. The searcher squeaked and raised a hand up to wipe the inky tears of - presumably pain.

 

_ “Please don’t cry…” _

 

Sore, he was sore, that’s what it was, and he tried to assure his partner of that; all it was, was a soreness. But deep down even he knew it was not, he was sad, and longing for his family again, for normalcy.  

 

The searcher leaned up as far as it could and planted a sticky inky kiss on their projector, barely below the lense, and they stopped crying, for a moment. Then it started up again, all anew, with more tears and pathetic screeching, as loud as his speaker could go.

 

_ “It’s okay! I know you want to give me a kiss, so, oh! I got it! Tap me with your lense and we can call that Norman’s kisses!” _

 

The projectionist stared at the smaller, yet not younger - possibly older even - being it was holding; then it leaned forward and noiselessly bopped his lense on their face, if it had one. Then it bopped them again, and again, over and over, 15 times in total, one after the other.

 

_ “Norman you’re so, gentle, I - I love you.” _

 

The searcher leaned up and gave the former worker a gentle kiss on the neck and warm embrace. The monster merely purred and nudged them with its metal head. It then twitched slightly and tried to stand up, where it clung onto the searcher still, while the small being peeped and squealed, not wanting to be held.

 

_ “Put me down, please.” _

 

It did not put them down, but instead it took them somewhere else in the maze, slightly deeper, it had a thin ink soaked mattress inside the room, and the beast laid on it, still holding the blot. It gave them a gentle nudge to the chest, or where it would have had a chest, if it were human.

 

_ “Polk, we’re still - are we still coworkers?” _

 

It paused and shook its head slowly, an act that took skill and energy, before letting out a small hiss from it’s vents.

 

_ “Kiss me now, if we never get out.” _

 

They both sat there, in shock over what the small one had said, before the searcher leaned in to kiss them all over their projector, grabbing their hands in its own inky hands. Then it reached up to hold what would have been Norman’s face - if he had one, and they tried to kiss where Polk’s cheeks would have been.

 

The projectionist suddenly screeched in shock and pleasant surprise, before rubbing his head against the searcher’s chest and covering it in gentle taps, before moving to the arms, and up the neck and to the head. He was doing his damned best to show them the same love they showed him.

 

_ “Let’s watch a movie, and cuddle.” _

 

So, they did just that, Norman playing them another cartoon, the searcher leaning on their chest and lap, Norman with his gangly arms around their darling’s chest, occasionally poking them in a sort of curious examination.

 

The searcher made a nervous beeping noise every time it got poked and it eventually relaxed once the poking stopped. It leaned over to take one of the projectionist’s hands, to give it a kiss, a loving kiss.

 

They were clinging to each other and that’s how they fell asleep, with Norman’s heavy rasps giving leeway to the searcher’s gentle snoring. And the projectionist wrapped its legs around the smaller being as if to hold it close as best it could.

 

_ “I love you too dear, never forget that, okay? We’re gonna make it, I was just, being silly and not thinking straight.” _

 

The projectionist just nodded slowly, again, tiredly, not more than half awake, if even that. He ran a hand along the searcher’s back, tracing it slightly, and then giving a semi - yawning noise. 

 

They both fell back asleep, with the searcher snoring loudly, and the larger beast rasping gently, their chests rising and falling in unison with their shared breaths. The breaths of two lovers kept apart from each other, everywhere except for in hell, here, the hell that was their heaven.

 


	10. Confusion in the Safe House

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WE'RE GONNA BE IN WORK 2 FROM NOW ON ROLL DOUBLE YAHHHTZEEE BABYIE

They lurched forward, coming to a halt before the lift, which Henry was proud to show to them both, though neither found it interesting. After all, a lift was a lift, nothing more nothing less. But what was down there, was far more intriguing, a room of, well it could have been toys.

 

“Never was used to this place, but I ended up adapting. Careful of the angel.”

 

“ _Angel_?” Lindsay raised an eyebrow and smirked, before stopping when she took in Sammy’s scared expression. “Sammy… what does that mean?”

 

“Susie, she hates us! She really wants to be the real Alice angel, so badly she’d _kill_ us!”

 

“Wait, was that that lady who voiced the Alice character?”

 

“Yes, Susie used to, before Joey started to date Allison behind her back, and he made  _ me  _ tell her that  _ I _ had chosen to replace her. She was pissed, and she tried to drown me.”

 

“She tried to  _ drown you?! _ ” Henry yelled and it made the Boris cover its ears, and Sammy yelped and hid behind the girl, who raised her lighter again. 

 

“Henry, take it down like, a million. People can hear you, and I’m ninety nine percent sure that searchers can find you by sound.”

 

Henry rolled his eyes and then led them past it, taking a ‘shortcut’ through a room filled with cut outs. “Don’t break any that just sends the ink demon after you, and you don’t come back from the puddles like we do.”

 

She shuddered and slouched her shoulders over, taking care with placing each foot down, making every step purposeful and deliberate. “Can we talk to pass the ti-”

 

“No. We can’t it hears us, anything too loud makes it follow.” Henry was whispering now, very guttural, like the whisper that might start in one throat and end in another.

 

“So,” She was whispering now too, muttering under her breath, “we have to whisper but you can yell about Susie being a mega bitch.”

 

“Well, I was just-”

 

“Just what Henry? _Just what?_ ” She cocked an eyebrow up and smirked before slipping between two cutouts and standing at the other end of the room waiting for the other 3. She offered Sammy a hand and gave them a quick grin and a nod, then she turned to Boris and offered her hand again, before turning and leaving Henry alone without help.

 

_“You little….”_ He muttered under his inky rasps that could hardly be called breaths.

 

As soon as the odd group arrived to the safehouse through Henry’s back route Lindsay proceeded to pass out on the floor cold; to the point she didn’t even notice that her little fall caused another wound.

 

She had wounds from her first fall the most noticeable being a large welt on her forehead and the main wound from her almost falling in the pentagram room, which was a relatively small burn on her right arm from a candle. She also had a few rope burns from her struggles when sammy’d tied her up, and her eyes were red and swollen from all her crying.

 

She clearly had been running on adrenaline and burnt herself out. As soon as Sammy reached to pick her up they saw her hair turning white along the tips and her eyes sunken in and shallow already shut so she could sleep, he chest rising and falling slowly.

 

“You really are attached to her huh?”

 

“I - no. No I am not, I am still his prophet.”

 

“Sammy, Sammy, you’re hugging her and stroking her head. You’re like her dad.”

 

Sammy nodded slowly and stopped, before he went over to the cot in the safehouse and he laid her on it, and he sat at the edge of the cot, holding her hand. “She’s something else she really is, has a very small phone and everything, I wonder where she’s from.”

 

“Sammy, when I came back thirty years had passed, god only knows how long it’s been since then.”

 

“Yeah. You’re right.” Sammy gave a quick smile behind the mask before freezing, standing, excusing himself and leaving the room.

 

“What’s up with him, right Boris?”

 

Boris shrugged and whuffed loudly.  _ Henry I swear to god, shut it, sounds ironic coming from me, the man who never shut up and can no longer speak but - shut up. _

 

Henry chuckled before scrunching up his face in thought. “I wonder what Sammy was going on about, with needing to leave.

 

Sammy was alone in another room, staring into the mirror and taking the mask off, ripping some congealing ink from their face off with it. All he could do after he’d done that was wince and clutch the sides of his head, mumbling about how that was so stupid of him, before collapsing to the floor and crawling under the sink to hide.

 

“My face, my stupid face it’s ugly it….it was it is...i’m….”

 

There was the pause which lasted half a breath before the reality of what they’d done hit sammy like a train.

 

_ “FUCK.” _

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> doot doot Sammy's a sad.


End file.
